Invisible Battle Scars
If you know me well, you may have noticed that I'm always a little on
edge. The simplest thing can make me jump or startle. Walk up behind me
and say hello and I may well jump out of my skin.
I used to think I was just strange. And when my friends teased me about it, I would agree with them. I am soooooo silly! I startle so easily! cue laughter.
There is some small part of me that wants to think that it was better when I just understood this to be a quirk in my character. But really, truly, it is important that I understand and claim this as a battle scar, a mark of healing, a strengthening of my character.
Now is when you, dear reader, are confused. I'm just a little jumpy. How is that a battle scar?
These days when something causes me to startle violently and my friends make those teasing remarks, I find myself wanting to enter into a long dialogue, explaining why it is that I do this. It's not that I feel I need to defend myself, it's just that I want to teach others to be aware of the cause of this tenseness, help them to understand me and others like me.
So instead of choosing between silencing myself and becoming the ranting lady who makes people think about difficult issues in normal everyday setting, I will express myself here where those who truly would like to understand can make the choice to do so. It is my hope that talking about these issues, even here in this blog that I'm sure no one reads, can help lower defensive walls, create understanding, help people.
I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.
[Let me be clear, before I go any further. To me, this is a badge of honor. It is a part of me that I love and accept and continue to struggle with every day. It does not make me weak, and it is not something I use as an excuse or whine about. This is my ribbon that I wear to show the world I am a survivor, just like those fierce lovely women who wear their mastectomy scars with pride.]
When I was young I lived in a dangerous place. There was a scary monster in my house that happened to also be my father.
The monster had a habit of anger. Sudden anger. Unexpected, random anger that would shake the whole house and make us all scatter and tremble and wish we could hide. But there was no where to hide from his anger when it happened.
He never hit us. In this I was lucky. But the emotional wounds went deeper than any scar or bruise he could have given us.
When a small child lives in a house where anger and rage can strike at any moment, they learn to extend all of their senses like tentacles, or like a spider's web, hoping that some small hint, some small wiggle of the web will give them enough warning to run from the anger, or even, magically, hopefully fix the thing that would cause it before it even starts!
So I learned at a very young age that I must always be aware of my surroundings. Not just my physical surroundings. I learned to fine tune this ability to sense any possible hint of what could end in anger or upset. I learned instinctively to read people's bodies and to feel the air around me for any sense of negative emotions so that I could fix them.
This ability has some advantages. I know when people around me are upset, and I am very good at making sure everything I do and say is done in the least offensive manner. And, in terms of my physical senses, I am unusually observant. Not like 'Psych' observant, but I may overhear two completely different conversations, put two completely different puzzle pieces together and be able to tell someone the answer to the question they haven't asked yet. Because I am always always always paying attention to just everything around me.
The negative side of this is that I am Always Tired.
Also, I spend so much time with my senses heightened and muscles tense, that when for some reason I don't see you coming, your simple hello feels as though you've slammed some heavy loud object on a table next to my head while I was sleeping. So I jump. I jump hard, and my heart stops and I have to pause, and I KNOW it's not your fault, I know you just meant to say hi, but my whole world just dropped from under my feet for a split second and I thought I was going to die.
This is my experience of PTSD. This is my battle. I am a survivor and every day I fight to make myself feel a little more safe. Because I was never safe when I was little, and there is still a little girl inside me that wants to be surrounded by mountains and mountains of pillows and walls so that I can feel secure for the first time ever.
Every day I wake up and tell that little girl inside me that it's okay. I can make me safe. I'm big enough and grown enough and strong enough to protect myself.
But those children inside us have had many years to learn, and I've only just begun teaching myself a new way of thinking.
So when you catch me in the hallway and say my name and I jump a little, or when you come into a room and I didn't hear you coming and you see the shock in my eyes and I have to breathe deeply for a minute, I'm just taking some time to remind myself that I'm all grown up now and I'm safe.
Now, I am not telling the world this because I need everyone to walk on their tiptoes around me. I'm a big girl and I can handle the startles. I don't want concern or pity or fear and I don't want kidd gloves or peace offering or condescension.
What I want is for you to take a second to think about the people you just.... run into on the street, stand behind at the coffee shop or pass on the sidewalk. Every single one of us is just a little broken. Every single one of us has a great amount of pain somewhere deep in our hearts. And it is something that we should be PROUD of.
I don't mean dwelling in pain. I mean being proud of everyday we take another step into life, every moment when we breathe in deep, every second when we fight off sorrow, hatred, pain... Be PROUD that we are living strong despite all of our hurts.
And this is something that we should also be aware of in others! You may be busy fighting your own battles, trying to make it through your own day, but that lady at the grocery store who wouldn't stop yelling on her phone, she only has $15 to her name right now and she lives in a home for women. And that man who keeps complaining that everything is taking TOO LONG and he should have been done HOURS ago, well, he hasn't actually had a pleasant conversation with someone in years, and this is the only way he knows how to get people to just talk with him because he's lonely and yelling at you is better than being alone. And that kid who gave you attitude and ran you right off the sidewalk, well, their parents spend all their time on the phone, at the office or on the computer these days, and they need to find attention somewhere.
We're all broken.
I am proud of my battle scar. I am so very proud that I grew up to be this strong woman who survived a childhood of emotional wounds. I am a survivor.
And I am immensely proud and thankful that this wound that I have inside me has given me the ability to see the wounds in others, to see that I'm not the only one battling inner demons. We are all at war. And if we can be kind to one another, maybe we can help ourselves and others to take that one more very strong step towards the joy of living.
I used to think I was just strange. And when my friends teased me about it, I would agree with them. I am soooooo silly! I startle so easily! cue laughter.
There is some small part of me that wants to think that it was better when I just understood this to be a quirk in my character. But really, truly, it is important that I understand and claim this as a battle scar, a mark of healing, a strengthening of my character.
Now is when you, dear reader, are confused. I'm just a little jumpy. How is that a battle scar?
These days when something causes me to startle violently and my friends make those teasing remarks, I find myself wanting to enter into a long dialogue, explaining why it is that I do this. It's not that I feel I need to defend myself, it's just that I want to teach others to be aware of the cause of this tenseness, help them to understand me and others like me.
So instead of choosing between silencing myself and becoming the ranting lady who makes people think about difficult issues in normal everyday setting, I will express myself here where those who truly would like to understand can make the choice to do so. It is my hope that talking about these issues, even here in this blog that I'm sure no one reads, can help lower defensive walls, create understanding, help people.
I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.
[Let me be clear, before I go any further. To me, this is a badge of honor. It is a part of me that I love and accept and continue to struggle with every day. It does not make me weak, and it is not something I use as an excuse or whine about. This is my ribbon that I wear to show the world I am a survivor, just like those fierce lovely women who wear their mastectomy scars with pride.]
When I was young I lived in a dangerous place. There was a scary monster in my house that happened to also be my father.
The monster had a habit of anger. Sudden anger. Unexpected, random anger that would shake the whole house and make us all scatter and tremble and wish we could hide. But there was no where to hide from his anger when it happened.
He never hit us. In this I was lucky. But the emotional wounds went deeper than any scar or bruise he could have given us.
When a small child lives in a house where anger and rage can strike at any moment, they learn to extend all of their senses like tentacles, or like a spider's web, hoping that some small hint, some small wiggle of the web will give them enough warning to run from the anger, or even, magically, hopefully fix the thing that would cause it before it even starts!
So I learned at a very young age that I must always be aware of my surroundings. Not just my physical surroundings. I learned to fine tune this ability to sense any possible hint of what could end in anger or upset. I learned instinctively to read people's bodies and to feel the air around me for any sense of negative emotions so that I could fix them.
This ability has some advantages. I know when people around me are upset, and I am very good at making sure everything I do and say is done in the least offensive manner. And, in terms of my physical senses, I am unusually observant. Not like 'Psych' observant, but I may overhear two completely different conversations, put two completely different puzzle pieces together and be able to tell someone the answer to the question they haven't asked yet. Because I am always always always paying attention to just everything around me.
The negative side of this is that I am Always Tired.
Also, I spend so much time with my senses heightened and muscles tense, that when for some reason I don't see you coming, your simple hello feels as though you've slammed some heavy loud object on a table next to my head while I was sleeping. So I jump. I jump hard, and my heart stops and I have to pause, and I KNOW it's not your fault, I know you just meant to say hi, but my whole world just dropped from under my feet for a split second and I thought I was going to die.
This is my experience of PTSD. This is my battle. I am a survivor and every day I fight to make myself feel a little more safe. Because I was never safe when I was little, and there is still a little girl inside me that wants to be surrounded by mountains and mountains of pillows and walls so that I can feel secure for the first time ever.
Every day I wake up and tell that little girl inside me that it's okay. I can make me safe. I'm big enough and grown enough and strong enough to protect myself.
But those children inside us have had many years to learn, and I've only just begun teaching myself a new way of thinking.
So when you catch me in the hallway and say my name and I jump a little, or when you come into a room and I didn't hear you coming and you see the shock in my eyes and I have to breathe deeply for a minute, I'm just taking some time to remind myself that I'm all grown up now and I'm safe.
Now, I am not telling the world this because I need everyone to walk on their tiptoes around me. I'm a big girl and I can handle the startles. I don't want concern or pity or fear and I don't want kidd gloves or peace offering or condescension.
What I want is for you to take a second to think about the people you just.... run into on the street, stand behind at the coffee shop or pass on the sidewalk. Every single one of us is just a little broken. Every single one of us has a great amount of pain somewhere deep in our hearts. And it is something that we should be PROUD of.
I don't mean dwelling in pain. I mean being proud of everyday we take another step into life, every moment when we breathe in deep, every second when we fight off sorrow, hatred, pain... Be PROUD that we are living strong despite all of our hurts.
And this is something that we should also be aware of in others! You may be busy fighting your own battles, trying to make it through your own day, but that lady at the grocery store who wouldn't stop yelling on her phone, she only has $15 to her name right now and she lives in a home for women. And that man who keeps complaining that everything is taking TOO LONG and he should have been done HOURS ago, well, he hasn't actually had a pleasant conversation with someone in years, and this is the only way he knows how to get people to just talk with him because he's lonely and yelling at you is better than being alone. And that kid who gave you attitude and ran you right off the sidewalk, well, their parents spend all their time on the phone, at the office or on the computer these days, and they need to find attention somewhere.
We're all broken.
I am proud of my battle scar. I am so very proud that I grew up to be this strong woman who survived a childhood of emotional wounds. I am a survivor.
And I am immensely proud and thankful that this wound that I have inside me has given me the ability to see the wounds in others, to see that I'm not the only one battling inner demons. We are all at war. And if we can be kind to one another, maybe we can help ourselves and others to take that one more very strong step towards the joy of living.
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